


The Price of Fame

by Rose_of_Pollux



Category: Perfect Strangers
Genre: Gen, light crossover with The Man from U.N.C.L.E.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2020-10-13 15:34:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20584856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: [Takes place between seasons 6 and 7] When Larry overhears a conversation concerning the imminent revival of an international criminal organization, he is convinced that he has stumbled upon the story of a lifetime that will make him a renowned investigative reporter. But the deeper he gets, it becomes all too clear to Larry that, in this case, fame may come at a terrible price.





	1. A Slumbering Beast

**Author's Note:**

> I recently rediscovered _Perfect Strangers_ and how amazing this show is, and as what usually happens, a wild plot bunny appeared, and this is the result. This will be a multichapter endeavor; I’m not sure how my update schedule will be, as I have multiple projects in the works for other fandoms, but I will keep this in the forefront. This fic is meant to take place between seasons 6 and 7. And if anything looks like a reference to _The Man from U.N.C.L.E._, it absolutely is.

Larry Appleton impatiently drummed his fingers on the table as he sat in the booth at Chez Josefine’s while his cousin, Balki Bartokomous contentedly sipped at a limeade soda without a care in the world.

“What could’ve happened to the girls?” Larry said.

“Observation one…” Balki noted, looking up from his drink. “You asked the girls to meet us for dinner at 7:00.”

“Yes. Exactly,” Larry said. “So, where are they?”

“Observation two,” Balki continued, holding up his arm so that Larry could see his watch. “It is only 6:30.”

“_Only_ 6:30!? Balki, you can round that up to 7:00 easily! They should’ve been here by now!”

“Well, excuse me, Mr. I-Was-Born-Three-Weeks-Early, but we can’t all be like you,” Balki said. “And thank goodness for that…!”

“Something must have happened,” Larry fretted. “Or maybe Jen’s got cold feet already. Or maybe—”

“Or maybe it’s still early and they haven’t left their apartment yet,” Balki offered.

“…I’d better call and make sure they’re okay…”

“Cousin—” Balki began, but Larry had already run off to make the call. The Mypiot merely shrugged and turned his attention back to the drink.

Barely a minute had gone by when the girls in question--Larry’s fiancée Jennifer Lyons and Balki’s steady girlfriend Mary Anne Spencer--now entered the restaurant, looking around for where the cousins were sitting. Balki waved until they saw him and headed his way, and he paused to check his watch again.

“…Only 6:33…?” he mused aloud.

“Hi, Balki,” Jennifer said. “I’m so sorry we’re late…”

Balki glanced back at his watch a third time (6:34) before looking to Jennifer and her sincere expression of apology, and then to Mary Anne and her incredulous look as she stared at her childhood friend.

“Well, as far as I can tell, you’re not late, but—” Balki began.

“Where’s Larry? I hope he wasn’t too upset…”

“No, he was just a little concerned; he’s over there somewhere calling your apartment,” Balki explained, indicating the direction where Larry had gone.

“Oh, great,” Jennifer sighed. “Mary Anne, I _told_ you this would happen! I hate being late…”

Balki stared again as she darted off to find Larry, and looked back at Mary Anne, who was also looking at Jennifer’s retreating back.

“Balki, did I just see what I thought I saw?” Mary Anne queried.

“If you mean did you see one anxious wreck run off in search of another anxious wreck who was waiting for the other anxious wreck, then yes, you did, and I did, too…”

Mary Anne sighed and sat down beside Balki in the booth.

“I don’t use the term ‘soulmates’ lightly, but if there were ever two of a kind…”

“Oh, yeah,” Balki said, nodding fervently. “Thank goodness it’s only two more months ‘til their wedding.”

“If they can survive until then, I’m sure they’ll live happily ever after,” Mary Anne sighed, and then she turned to Balki again, speaking bluntly. “I’d like to live happily ever after, too, you know.”

“Oh, of course!” Balki exclaimed. “You deserve that, too!”

Mary Anne waited for more, but sighed inwardly as she realized it wasn’t going to be today.

Meanwhile, Larry had just attempted to place a call for the fourth time when he finally noticed Jennifer heading his way. Breathing out a quick sigh of relief, he hung up the phone and managed a smile as she reached him. She returned the smile, greeting him with a quick kiss.

“Sorry we’re so late,” she offered. “I told Mary Anne to spend less time with her makeup, but she insisted on getting it perfect.”

“Oh… I barely noticed--barely noticed!” Larry bluffed, waving his hand in dismissal.

She wasn’t fooled, but she appreciated it all the same.

“…I didn’t have the time to touch my own up,” she added. “Do you mind if I duck into the restroom? I shouldn’t take long.”

“Oh, Jen, you look perfect,” Larry insisted, but she was already eyeing the door, clearly self-conscious. He knew all too well how that felt. “But I don’t mind waiting--how about I order the appetizers?”

“That’d be great; thanks, Larry.” She kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll be right back!”

Larry let out a contented sigh as she left; he still wasn’t entirely sure how he’d managed to be so fortunate. Despite the fact he’d been entranced at first sight, even declaring to Balki after five minutes that he knew that he and Jennifer were destined to spend their lives together, he never actually imagined it would come true--it almost hadn’t, thanks to their mutual anxieties, but Balki and Mary Anne had never ceased to ensure that they would end up together. Perhaps Larry and Jennifer could help return the favor…

Larry was soon pulled from his reverie as he suddenly became aware of the conversation at a nearby table--

“I say, though, if you want to go about reviving THRUSH, you should watch out for Solo and Kuryakin.”

“They haven’t been heard from since 1972--and they were always the best U.N.C.L.E. had to offer. No one they could send now would be able to stop us if we go about reviving it the proper way. We have to revive while gaining popular opinion—and without Solo and Kuryakin as their poster boys, we have a good chance to get the job done.”

The first man tutted.

“I still say our best chance is if we ensure that Solo and Kuryakin are dead. What’s to stop U.N.C.L.E. from bringing them to active duty once they catch wind of what we’re doing. Solo has far too much charisma—any attempt at swaying public opinion will be shattered effortlessly by that infernal fool.”

“Are we even certain that Solo and Kuryakin are alive?” the other man challenged. “U.N.C.L.E. might be trying to cover up that they have long since died--keeping their memories alive just to dissuade us. And even if they are alive, THRUSH would have the resources now to finally write an end to those old men before they become a threat to us.”

Larry chose to move as slowly as he could, not wanting to draw attention to himself in any way, though also not wanting to stay out in the open. Slowly, he crept behind a large, potted plant, trying to conceal himself behind it. Peeking through the leaves, he caught a glimpse of the two men in deep conversation at the nearby table. By the looks of things, they had just finished their meal and had placed a credit card in the folder for the check. They fell silent as the waiter came by and picked up the check—and as the waiter now headed his way, that was when Larry had an idea.

He quickly stepped out from behind the plant as the waiter walked by, bumping into him, causing him to drop the check. Larry quickly knelt down, out of sight of the table, to pick up the leather folder with the check--and the credit card that had fallen out of it.

“I am so sorry--really, I am,” he said, apologetically, handing the fallen items back to the waiter.

The waiter muttered something and continued, and Larry retreated back behind the plant in an ungainly crouch-walk, silently filing away the name he had read on the credit card--G. E. Partridge III. He glanced back at the two people at the table--Partridge and the other man hadn’t seemed to notice him crashing into the waiter, thank goodness…

Slowly, he crept back in that same hunchbacked stance towards the booth where he had left Balki, and both Balki and Mary Anne took note of his odd stance.

“…Cousin, did you throw your back out again?” Balki asked.

“Not at all!” Larry said, hopping back into the booth. “You will not _believe_ what just happened!”

“Does it have to do with why I just saw you sneaking across the floor like Quasimodo?” Jennifer asked, arriving in time to hear that.

“Yes,” Larry admitted, as he handed everyone a menu. “Girls, I want the two of you to order anything your hearts desire tonight--money is no object!”

This earned him a disbelieving stare from all three of his companions.

“…Oh, God—he has a plan,” Balki groaned.

“What?” Larry asked. “No, it’s not what you think--”

“Larry,” Jennifer said, gently. “I know you want us to start our marriage with financial security, but whenever you try these moneymaking ideas, something usually ends up going wrong. We’re getting married in two months--there’s no need to try anything crazy now! We’ll be fine!”

“I wasn’t going to do anything crazy--just my job!” Larry insisted. “You won’t believe the conversation I just overheard back there. You’ve all heard of U.N.C.L.E. and THRUSH, right?”

“…Uncle Who?” Balki asked.

“It’s not a person; it’s an organization--” Larry began,

“United Network Command for Law and Enforcement,” Mary Anne said, now prompting the others to look at her. “Jennifer, you remember, right? Back in Iowa, there was that story Ms. Dennison used to tell us…”

“Oh, that’s right…!” Jennifer mused. “Some guy named Napoleon Solo who worked for that U.N.C.L.E. organization apparently once showed up in our hometown and recruited one of the citizens to help him stop that… THRUSH thing you mentioned. She used to tell that story to anyone who’d listen…”

“Yes, THRUSH!” Larry said, keeping his voice down. “I just heard two people at that table back there talking about reviving THRUSH and stopping Solo from stopping them!”

“Excuse me, but you are all talking very quickly here…” Balki said. “So, this Uncle Napoleon was trying to stop a bird?”

“No, Balki--THRUSH is another organization. It’s another acronym.”

“Of course it is…” the Mypiot muttered in frustration. “Why English insists on being full of such complicated _babasticki_, I will never understand…”

“THRUSH stands for the Technological Hierarchy for the Removal of Undesirables and the Subjugation of Humanity,” Larry explained. “They were an organization that wanted to be powerful enough to pull the strings of superpowers and control the outcome of wars, trades, commerce… everything! And anyone they didn’t like was history! They spent years trying to provoke wars and global conflicts so that they could swoop in and pick up the pieces after the dust settled.”

Balki finally seemed to understand, looking very concerned.

“…So they’re like KAOS?”

“Well… Actually, yes. Just like KAOS--an international organization of evil, though they didn’t see themselves that way--they were convinced that they were justified in doing things their way,” Larry agreed. “Two U.N.C.L.E. agents, Solo and Kuryakin, were key in getting THRUSH to crumble--I always heard stories about them when I was growing up. They seemed like… some sort of action hero tag team or something. Well, anyway, thanks to their efforts, THRUSH was out of action for a long time--since 1972, after which Solo and Kuryakin retired and basically vanished off the face of the Earth.”

“And you said you overheard that two people want to revive THRUSH now?” Jennifer asked. “But the Cold War is over--what could they possibly gain?”

“Oil. Gold. Blood diamonds. Other valuable resources. They could still try to provoke global conflict and take the spoils,” Larry said. “But don’t you guys see? If THRUSH really are trying to revive themselves, and Solo and Kuryakin are alive and would come out of retirement to try to stop them, this is the scoop of the century! The old bones of an international espionage organization are seeking to revive in secrecy, only for intrepid investigative reporter Lawrence G. Appleton to expose them all! We are talking Pulitzers, we are talking promotions, we are talking raises…” He turned to Jennifer and held her hands in his. “We are talking the good life.”

There was a long silence.

“…Well, that would be nice…” Jennifer admitted, at last. “But, Larry, please don’t go overboard trying to do this.”

“Overboard? Would I go overboard--wait, don’t answer that,” Larry added, as Balki, Jennifer, and Mary Anne all opened their mouths to speak. “Look, there’s nothing to this. I’ll focus on the research of THRUSH’s past, maybe sing a few praises for Solo and Kuryakin and how they stopped THRUSH, and then point out the fact that THRUSH is trying to revive and to stay tuned to whatever drama that unfolds. I could make this a series--keep up with the developments and update the readers.”

Balki and the girls exchanged glances, shrugged in unison, and nodded.

“…You agree?” Larry asked, slightly surprised.

“Well of course we do, don’ be ridiculous,” Balki said. “Cousin, you are very good with your writing.”

“And this does sound like a really important story, too,” Mary Anne pointed out. “If THRUSH are as bad as you say, they sound like the kind of thing people should be warned about.”

“I agree,” Jennifer added. “But make sure you don’t overwork yourself, okay, Larry? I know you have a tendency to get lost in your work--and we do have a few more last-minute wedding details to go over.”

“Oh, of course,” he insisted. “Don’t you worry about me--I won’t forget what’s important.”

The conversation soon moved to dinner shortly after that, but Larry was already eager to start his new endeavor now that he had the support of his loved ones backing him up.

Nothing could possibly go wrong!


	2. Reversal of Fortunes

Mr. Wainwright had been intrigued when Larry had brought the idea for his series of articles on THRUSH to him. As the days progressed, Larry divided his time between the _Chronicle_ archives and the library, gathering information on THRUSH and any clues as to who G. E. Partridge III could possibly be.

He ended up finding a goldmine.

He had just published his first piece on just some of the many tales of Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin—spiced up in part by dropping the tantalizing questions to the readers as to whether or not they were going to return as THRUSH intended to revive—and promising the full sordid story on THRUSH’s attempt at rising from the ashes as his installments on the series progressed.

“This is good stuff!” he said, as he went over the copies of the research he’d done. “This is _better_ than good stuff! Balki, look at this!”

“All I see are a bunch of old papers,” Balki said, looking over Larry’s shoulder at the research that had covered his desk.

“It’s what’s _in_ the papers, Balki. This G. E. Partridge III guy I overheard—he’s not the first to be involved in THRUSH. Pretty much the entire Partridge family for the last three generations have been directly affiliated with THRUSH. …_Not_ the Partridge Family you’re thinking of,” Larry added, as Balki’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“Okay, good,” Balki sighed. “Because I could never believe that the fine bunch of folks singing ‘Come On, Get Happy’ could ever be involved in something as horrible as the things you say THRUSH have done.”

“Yeah, this is a completely different group of Partridges. This G. Emory Partridge—no doubt the one the current Partridge is named after—was pretty much Solo’s archenemy throughout his career with U.N.C.L.E.; it’s really quite incredible. I have to focus on this link—and figure out who the other guy Partridge was talking to in the restaurant--”

“Ah, Appleton!”

The cousins looked up to see Wainwright coming out of the elevator; Larry leaped to his feet as though his chair had caught fire.

“Ah, yes, Sir? I’ve been hard at work researching the next installment of my article series—”

“I’m glad to hear that, because people have been clamoring for more,” Wainwright replied. “I’ve just been going over a small sample of the letters to the editor about the subject… Well, I think they speak for themselves…” He handed a few of them to Larry, who had to fight back the urge to cheer aloud as he saw the accolades from the readers who were gushing about a riveting “good guys and bad guys” story, and those who were hoping to have more intriguing things to read in the near future.

“Oh, Cousin, look at that! You have fanmail!” Balki grinned.

“And there’s more coming; better get ready, Bartokomous. And you, too, Appleton—I’d like to put your next piece on the front page.”

Larry nearly dropped the letters.

“The fr… The fr…” he stammered. “The fro…?”

Balki clapped him on the back.

“—The front page!?” Larry managed to squawk out.

“That’s right; circulation has already increased from this first article. A second one on the front page will draw in even more,” Wainwright said, pleased. “It’s James Bond revisited—everyone loves this stuff! How soon can you get that second piece in?”

“As soon as humanly possible, Sir!” Larry promised.

“That’s just what I want to hear. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get upstairs to Advertising and meet with a potential client; you keep up the good work in the meantime!”

“Yes, Sir!” Larry promised.

He managed to maintain his composure until Wainwright had gotten back into the elevator, returning upstairs, before exclaiming in triumph.

“Yes. _YES_!” he shouted. “Balki, did you hear that!? I made it—the front page! Me—Larry Appleton—I’m going to be on the front page!”

“And now we are so happy, we do the Dance of Joy!” Balki exclaimed.

“Later, Buddy; I’ve gotta get to the library and do some more research to get this thing written.” He moved to grab his briefcase, but paused as he glanced back and saw that Balki had already had his arms extended for the dance, and now looked rather disappointed. “…Oh, what the heck—let’s boogie.”

Balki cheered up instantly as they did the Dance of Joy, but Larry didn’t linger for long—he hopped out of the end pose, grabbed his briefcase and the research from his desk, and darted into the elevator with a cheery wave to his cousin.

Balki watched with pride and amusement as Larry ran off, a spring in his step that Balki had never seen before. Just seeing his cousin so happy meant so much to him—Larry was usually so anxious and reserved, always trying to prepare for whatever possible troubles could lay ahead of them. Finally, things were starting to go so well for him; best of all, Larry was doing things the right way, with no schemes or tricks—just good, honest work. And his efforts were paying off, if Wainwright’s decision, and all of this fanmail, were any indication! This was truly a long time coming, and Balki hoped it would last—the success and confidence he was gaining would certainly be a great start to his upcoming marriage if it meant fewer things for him to worry about.

Balki was just getting back to sorting the mail as Gorpley wandered off the elevator in his usual sour mood.

“What has gotten into Appleton?” he griped. “He’s acting so _bouncy_.” He gave Balki a glance. “He’s acting like _you_.”

“Cousin Larry is getting his next article on the front page!” Balki said, proudly. “He’s going to write about the history--”

“Fascinating,” Gorpley droned, cutting him off and trudging towards his office without another word.

Balki shrugged and continued with his work, sorting more mail as it came in and grinning to see so many letters addressed to his cousin. He looked up from his task, however, as the elevator opened again, and Wainwright returned to the mailroom, with someone in tow, apparently talking about Larry.

“You’ll find Appleton here…” Wainwright trailed off, realizing that Larry had vanished in the short time he’d been upstairs. “Usually…”

“You just missed him by about twenty minutes, Mr. Wainwright,” Balki explained. “As soon as you went upstairs, he ran off to the library.”

“Just like I told you—a little high-strung, but a great reporter,” Wainwright said to the client, before turning back to Balki. “Bartokomous, this is Mr. Alain Moran of the Boudetase Group.”

“Hello, Mr. Moran!” Balki exclaimed, attempting to give the traditional Myposian greeting of a hug to him.

Moran, however, backed away and stood rigid, glancing at the Mypiot with an expression that betrayed a moment of utter revulsion; Balki was taken aback and stopped in his tracks, putting his arms down. But by the time Wainwright had glanced at Moran in confusion, Moran had switched to a neutral expression.

“…This is Balki Bartokomous, our mail clerk—also a fledgling reporter, under the tutelage of Appleton,” Wainwright said, still confused by having clearly missed an awkward exchange—he had never seen Balki abandon a greeting hug like that before, even if most on the receiving end had been taken by surprise.

“I was rather hoping to meet this Appleton fellow,” Moran replied, a Received Pronunciation accent lining his voice. “You mentioned that his latest article had significantly increased your circulation, and that further installments would drive advertising even more than planned?”

“Yes, that’s right; to take advertising space now would most certainly be an investment,” Wainwright agreed. “As you heard, Appleton is hard at work on the second piece. Your Boudetase Group would get quite a lot of exposure.”

“Ah, pardon me for asking,” Balki said, still a little taken aback by Moran’s previous rebuff. “Is Boudetase an environmental group?”

“Pharmaceutical laboratory,” Moran huffed, a definite edge to his voice that did not go unnoticed.

“Oh. Pardon me for making that assumption, Mr. Moran. I just thought it might be since ‘Boudetase’ is Greek for ‘little bird,’ so an environmental--”

“What time will Appleton return?” Moran asked, turning back to Wainwright and ignoring Balki completely.

“Well, Mr. Moran, we _are_ a newspaper—our reports work whatever hours they need to in order to get the story. That’s what makes us so successful,” Wainwright said, with a hint of pride.

“Oh, and when Cousin Larry gets his teeth into something, he won’t let go for anything,” Balki insisted. “Believe me, I know…” He trailed off again as Moran gave him a look—this time, an unreadable expression.

Moran then turned back to Wainwright.

“I think I’ll wait and see if Appleton returns,” he said. “I certainly would like to know where he’s going with these articles. Don’t let me keep you from anything important, Mr. Wainwright; I’ll have the final word on the advertisement as soon as I am sure I have the same confidence in your Mr. Appleton as you do—if not today, then whenever I get the chance to speak with him.”

“Well, if you insist,” Wainwright said, shaking his hand. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

He headed back to the elevator, and Balki now returned to the mail, deciding that he wasn’t going to try to say anything further to Moran, who seemed to despise every word that came out of his mouth.

He carried a stack of fanmail over to Larry’s desk, prompting Moran to walk in that direction. Moran paused to glance at the two framed photos on Larry’s desk—one of them was of him and Jennifer together that Mary Anne had taken when the four of them had gone to Hawaii; Balki had noticed the two of them talking on the beach with the sunset framing them and had indicated to Mary Anne to take the picture. The other photo was one of Larry, Jennifer, Balki, and Mary Anne in a cheerful, spirited conversation together that Harriette had taken of them at one of the _Chronicle’s_ office parties a couple years prior, the four of them clearly having the time of their lives.

Balki awkwardly tried to sidle away, but stopped in amazement as Moran finally addressed him.

“You are Greek?” Moran asked Balki.

There was something in his tone of voice that was unreadable—but it made the normally cheerful and trusting Mypiot uneasy for a reason he couldn’t even put his finger on. Still, he endeavored to be polite.

“No, Mr. Moran,” he said. “I’m Myposian—but we are close enough to Greece that I know some of the language.”

“And Appleton is your cousin?”

“Yes, Mr. Moran. He is 1/64th Myposian—but he doesn’t really know the language beyond what I’ve taught him. And he doesn’t know Greek.”

“Just answer the question.”

“…I thought I did,” Balki said, puzzled, wondering what he had said wrong—and the sinking feeling from earlier grew, but he tried his best to ignore it. Maybe he was reading too much into it, like Larry usually did…

At any rate, Moran seemed most uninterested in him again, and instead picked up the photo of Larry and Jennifer in Hawaii, causing Balki to flinch upon seeing his cousin’s meticulous arrangements being disturbed.

“Cousin Larry hates it when people move his things around,” Balki said. He reached for the photo, but paused again as Moran gave him a withering look for daring to criticize him in any way. “I… I’m sorry, but I was just--”

“Does your cousin also hate inane babbling?” Moran countered. “Get back to your table.”

Balki retreated like a frightened rabbit back to his desk and resumed sorting the mail, casting a nervous glance back at Larry’s desk every few minutes. Moran continued to survey the desk, as though he was trying to study something, and Balki had to wonder what he was looking for, and why his advertising suddenly hinged on what Larry was planning. It didn’t add up, but Balki didn’t dare ask any further questions. He was no stranger to people snapping at him—even Larry sometimes did when his anxiety or frustrations got the better of him, but there was a distinct difference between Larry’s emotional outbursts (which Balki knew that he never truly meant), and Moran’s apparent sheer dislike of him, despite only just meeting him five minutes ago. What sort of poor first impression had he presented in order to deserve those barbs from Moran?

“Bartokomous?” Gorpley asked, emerging from his office, still grumpy. “Did Payroll send the latest batch of memos?”

“N-Not when I last checked an hour ago, Mr. Gorpley,” Balki replied, his voice uncharacteristically small and subdued. “But I will go check with Payroll again.” _Anything_ to get away from Moran, even for a moment!

Not even wanting to pass by Moran on the way to the elevator, Balki darted up the stairwell.

And a very confused Gorpley was left staring blankly at what he had just seen unfold before him.

“Appleton is cheerful and bouncy. Bartokomous is depressed and anxious. …Where am I—the Twilight Zone!?”


	3. Recollections and Reflections

Larry’s odyssey to the library had also proved to be extremely fruitful; between what he’d found out there and what he’d found in the _Chronicle_ archives, he was able to type up a draft of his next article. It would just need a bit of polishing, and it could be in Wainwright’s hands by the end of the day. He was proud of it—it was an exposé on the Partridges’ involvement with THRUSH and the exploits that Solo and Kuryakin undertook to stop them. He hadn’t mentioned the current G. E. Partridge yet, but he had dropped hints that THRUSH’s revival seemed to be in the heart of Chicago, paraphrasing parts of the conversation he’d overheard, and ending with how Solo and Kuryakin were still two giants that THRUSH feared—and possible saviors for the innocent people of the world if they were still out there. Next time, he would offer what he knew on the last known whereabouts of the legendary duo—and enter the realms of conjecture when it came to figuring out where they could possibly be.

Still cheerful, he was heading out of the library when he noticed the clock on one of the buildings—4:00 PM. He had completely forgotten to eat lunch, and with his mind no longer focused on work, he was suddenly starving.

The nearest eatery happened to be a bar-and-grill; it wasn’t his first choice of an eatery, but, upon the sudden realization of how hungry he actually was, it would have to do for the time being.  
Larry tried hard not to wrinkle his nose at the smell of cigarettes and liquor as he sat down at the bar; he would have the odd beer on occasion or wine (or on special occasions, champagne) with dinner, but neither he nor Balki nor the girls touched hard liquor. It went against Balki’s personal choices, and the girls had seen plenty of obnoxiously drunk passengers on their flights to know that they wanted nothing to do with it themselves. As for Larry, he was convinced that he wouldn’t be able to hold his liquor, so there was no point in trying it as far as he was concerned.

He was, therefore, slightly annoyed that soon after he’d chosen a seat at the bar and ordered a sandwich, an older man with a double bourbon sat on the barstool next to him, apparently waiting for someone. The man had streaks of silver running through dark hair; as he sipped the bourbon with his right hand, he glanced at the watch on his left—and then, Larry saw the man’s gaze flicker to the archived articles sticking out of the folder Larry had placed on the bar counter before silently surveying Larry next—his gaze had only been there a moment, and yet, Larry couldn’t help but sense he was being read and scrutinized.

“Are you that reporter who wrote that absolutely riveting article on THRUSH and U.N.C.L.E.?” the man asked, after a moment.

“Uh… Yes, I am,” Larry said, his mood improving immediately. “Larry Appleton—_Chicago Chronicle_.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Lawrence,” the man said, placing his bourbon down to extend a hand. “Albert Stroller.”

“Thanks, Mr. Stroller,” Larry said. “I’m flattered you liked my article. I put a lot into it.”

“And it shows,” Stroller said. “I’m curious, though—why the sudden interest in THRUSH after they’ve been quiet since ’72? I know you wrote that they appear to be reviving themselves, but how did you come across that kind of information?”

“…Trade secret,” Larry said, not wanting to admit that it was sheer, dumb luck. “A good reporter has eyes and ears everywhere.”

“I see,” Stroller mused. “Well, at any rate, I’m certainly looking forward to your next piece.”

“Thank you,” Larry said, gushing with pride. “Yes, I’m very slowly uncovering the beast and revealing its true nature—as well as the nature of the ones capable of slaying the beast. All will be revealed in due time.”

“He’s got quite a flair for the dramatic, hasn’t he, Albert?” a new voice asked. “Not unlike someone else…”

Larry watched as Mr. Stroller now warmly greeted another man about his age as he arrived; the other man also had silver hair, but, in addition, he wore a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.

“Lawrence, this is Dr. Donny Mallard,” he said. “Ducky, this is Lawrence Appleton—the writer of that enthralling article we’ve been discussing for days.”

Like Mr. Stroller, Dr. Mallard glanced at Larry with a searching gaze that seemed to be trying to read him, as well. He had no objections to what he had seen apparently, for the doctor also extended a hand.

“A pleasure, Lawrence.”

“Same here, but… Really? Days?” Larry asked, surprised, as he shook the doctor’s hand.

“Well, it may be just history for you,” Dr. Mallard informed him. “But we lived through that era when THRUSH was a terrifying threat to the world. You’ve given us—and intend to still give us—a lot to remember.”

“…Well, I guess so,” Larry realized aloud, and then he paused as an idea came to him. “Say, I don’t suppose you two gentlemen would like to be interviewed and tell the readers how it was, living in those days when espionage and intrigue filled the news? Not today, though—I need to get this second article in as soon as possible. But maybe in a day or two—it could be for part three!”

Mr. Stroller chuckled at this.

“I hardly think your readers would want to know the stories of a couple of old men—I think they’re more interested in what’s happening here and now.”

“Well, a very good friend of mine once said that to know where we’re going, we’ve got to know where we’ve been,” Larry said. Indeed, Balki had told him that once in one of his pep talks on an occasion where Larry had been frustrated at his inability to figure out where his then-new career at the _Chronicle_ had been heading.

“…A very profound thought,” Dr. Mallard mused.

“Yes, isn’t it…?” Larry said.

“I still say there isn’t much for us to tell you,” Mr. Stroller insisted. “But if there is one thing that was always a constant thing during that time, it was how you constantly prayed that no global war would break out; the fear of that happening was something very real—very much on every mind—even children…” He surveyed Larry briefly again. “You seem a little too young to have experienced the old Duck and Cover drills for schoolchildren.”

“Yeah, I don’t really remember ever going through that,” Larry admitted.

“Consider yourself fortunate,” Mr. Stroller sighed. “I wonder just how many of those kids ended up with some type of mental scarring from that…”

“I can imagine…” Larry said, with a shake of his head. To think, his biggest worries in high school had been getting a cold on the eve of the Junior Prom, trying to join Bunky McDermott’s in-crowd, trying to outdo Becky Jo Quinn as valedictorian, or being roped into baby-sitting his younger siblings after school… “Wow, when you put it that way, it really puts a lot of things into perspective—there was so much that I took for granted as a kid. I think I even take things for granted now; the _Chronicle_ archive room still has a fallout shelter sign hanging over it—I never gave that sign a second thought… It really makes you think.”

“Doesn’t it, though?” Dr. Mallard agreed. “Though I will admit to you, sometimes, it feels as though nothing’s really changed, even with THRUSH having been out of the picture. The world still remains in a state of uncertainty—but what is certain that is if THRUSH returned, those uncertainties would change for the worse. And that is why they can’t be allowed to get back into the picture.”

“So, you would say that the stakes this time are high—would you say higher than ever before?” Larry asked, scribbling in his notepad.

“Considering the last several decades have been spent finding more newfangled ways of mangling other people, I’d say that’s a ‘yes,’” the doctor muttered. “Money and glory are the main drivers of motivation these days—not the sake of doing something for the good of it or for the benefit of others, as it _should_ be.”

Larry blinked.  
“…Say what…?” he asked, slightly embarrassed.

“Greed, Dear Boy—_selfishness_, plain and simple,” the doctor said. “It was a problem then, and it still is today.”

“…Selfishness?” Larry repeated. He felt a familiar tug of guilt on his conscience. It was one of his biggest vices (along with his knack for lying to either get out of trouble, impress someone, or get something he wanted) that he just couldn’t resist trying a scheme if there was a chance that there was something to be made from it; he knew it all too well, and there were times he hated himself for it—especially when Balki called him out on it. …Come to think of it, hadn’t glory and recognition been his entire motivation for starting this whole THRUSH article project…?

He glanced at his notepad and folder for a moment. Yes, yes it had been—and he’d been reveling unashamedly in the praise he’d been getting.

“There’s nothing wrong with living comfortably,” Mr. Stroller agreed, either missing or choosing not to directly address Larry’s apparent discomfort. “We all want that—we all deserve that. But there’s a line that tends to be crossed, and once you have people in power prioritizing money over human lives, that’s when things get uglier.”

“Yeah, I… I guess that makes sense…” Larry said, trying to push his thoughts aside. “And THRUSH is… All about that?”

“Well, you’re the one reading those old articles,” Mr. Stroller pointed out. “What have you found?”

“That THRUSH is nothing but bad news,” Larry insisted. “Anything they try to pass off as benevolence is nothing but a ruse to serve their own ends… But they’re good at making it look like they’re trying to help. The operate in the shadows, pulling strings and manipulating people. They also don’t know the meaning of the word ‘mercy.’”

“Sounds about right to me,” Mr. Stroller mused, drinking a bit more of his bourbon now. “Although sometimes, they’re far less subtle than you think. But nevermind; we’ve taken up quite a bit of your time.”

“Yes, don’t let us keep you from publishing that exciting second installment,” Dr. Mallard added.

“If you want to get in touch with us for a future interview, you’re more than welcome to,” Mr. Stroller finished, handing Larry a business card; the doctor did, as well. “Good luck on the rest of your articles, Lawrence.”

“Thanks,” Larry said. He paid for his sandwich and took it to go, eating it along the way back to the _Chronicle_ with one hand as he carried his briefcase and research with the other as he pondered over his meeting with the two older men—how they had unknowingly, yet perfectly, called him out (to a degree) had been more than a little disconcerting for the young reporter.

“Selfishness…” he muttered under his breath. He paused in front of a storefront near the _Chronicle_ with bright, reflective windows, glancing at his reflection. He knew he’d done his fair share of string-pulling and manipulation, as well. And, indeed, he _had_ been thinking mainly of himself when he had started this endeavor—but Balki and the girls had supported him. And people were enjoying what he was writing—to write more would make them happy, wouldn’t it? Wasn’t that a good thing? …Or was it just his mind trying to justify his actions yet again?

He sighed and glanced skyward.

“…Why am I like this…?” he asked no one in particular.

“Like what, Cousin?”

Larry blinked, looking back at the window glass and seeing Balki there with him before turning to see him there.

“What are you doing out here?” Larry asked, dodging Balki’s question altogether.

“It’s almost 5:00—you’ve been working late ever since this started, and I thought I’d get home and get dinner ready for when you came back.”

“You usually wait for me before going home,” Larry pointed out, slightly surprised.

“…Did you want me to wait?” Balki asked, after a moment’s hesitation.

“Well, if you want to head home, you can,” Larry said, slightly confused at Balki’s eagerness to leave; he usually didn’t mind staying—there was always something going on in the _Chronicle_ building to amuse him. “I just need to polish this article and leave it on Mr. Wainwright’s desk; it shouldn’t take more than an hour—at most.” He paused, noticing how fidgety Balki seemed to be. “…Is everything alright, Balki?”

Balki hesitated, as though trying to figure out what to say.

“…Well, of course it is, don’ be ridiculous,” he insisted. “Why would things not be alright? Things are just fine and dandy!”

Larry knew his cousin too well to buy that, however. He couldn’t guess the real reason, of course—he had no way of knowing about Moran and how unnerved he had made Balki feel after their encounter.

No, Larry was convinced that Balki was feeling a bit left out and upset at Larry spending the majority of his time with his research and writing for his series. And he certainly couldn’t blame him.

“Well, you can head home now if you want to; I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Balki nodded, and then glanced back at the _Chronicle_ building.

“Cousin, there was someone…” He trailed off, his face going slightly red as he recalled his encounter with Moran—and how getting away from Moran was the reason he was eager to leave. He knew he should tell Larry about Moran wanting to speak with him, but Moran gave Balki such a bad feeling—he wasn’t sure he wanted Larry to meet him, especially so late, with not many people around. It wasn’t often he had these gut warnings, so he opted to listen. “…It’s nothing.”

Larry could tell it was definitely not nothing; Balki rarely got this embarrassed and visibly upset—something had happened, and, right now, his cousin needed his attention more than the article.

“You know what? I’ll polish this article tonight and hand it over to Mr. Wainwright first thing in the morning.” He placed a hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “Let’s go home, Buddy.”

Seeing Balki cheer up was the reassurance he needed that he had, at least this time, made the right decision.


	4. A Moment's Peace

As they arrived back at Caldwell Avenue, Balki seemed to have gotten over whatever had been upsetting him, much to Larry’s relief. And Balki’s good mood was completely restored as Jennifer and Mary Anne joined them for a nice, casual dinner that the boys had put together. Soon, they were idly chatting on the couch—or, rather, Balki and the girls were chatting while Larry listened. His conversation with Mr. Stroller and Dr. Mallard had given him a lot to think about—on multiple levels.

He knew he could be selfish and greedy at times; there were moments he wondered where he could’ve ended up had it not been for the others—particularly Balki—reigning him back in. Sometimes, he wondered why they even bothered and didn’t just leave him to lie in the bed he’d made, but he was grateful that they didn’t…

“Larry?”

He was jolted from his thoughts as Jennifer addressed him, and that was when he noticed the others glancing at him.

“You’ve been awfully quiet all evening,” she said.

“Yeah, and you’re not as peppy as you’ve been lately,” Mary Anne observed.

“Cousin, is everything alright?” Balki added.

Larry had to appreciate the irony here—particularly with Balki, who had been clearly upset about something earlier, but had cast that thought aside because he’d picked up on Larry’s distress.

Could he ever learn to be _that_ selfless himself, Larry wondered…

“I’m fine,” he said aloud. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Is your next article giving you trouble?” Mary Anne asked, with a look of sympathy.

“No, nothing like that; it’s just… given me the opportunity to think about some things I probably wouldn’t have thought about on my own.”

“I can imagine,” Jennifer said. “It must be pretty heavy stuff.”

“It sure is,” Larry sighed. “I guess I’ve been on cloud nine too long to realize it until now.”

“And it’s a long fall back to Earth from there,” Balki said, in sympathy.

“Yeah…” Larry said. He paused. “What do you guys think is the biggest problem with the world?”

“Oh, it’s _really_ heavy,” Jennifer realized. “Well… If you mean like those things you were saying about THRUSH trying to steal resources and cause wars, then that’s it. Not just what THRUSH is doing, but the fact that there’s even a situation like that for them to exploit.”

“And you know why there’s that situation in the first place?” Mary Anne said. “It’s because of the fallacy of human nature to divide ourselves based on our differences and the refusal to see that we are, in fact, all one global community. And that’s just sad.”

The other three stared at her for a moment, and she offered a shrug.

“It’s getting to be that point in the night when these things just pop into my head,” she explained.

“…Well, you’re not wrong,” Larry replied, after an awkward pause. “What do you think, Balki?”

“I think Mary Anne is absolutely right!” Balki agreed, drawing an arm around her as she grinned back at him. “Even us Mypiots aren’t immune to that—we drew lines with the Skeptics, and, to this day, Mypos and Skeptos still don’ get along.” He sighed. “But I think it is up to individual people to show smiles and kindness to everyone to try to change that. That is what I try to do to everyone I meet.”

“And you’re very good at it,” Larry said. “But, Balki… One person doing all that isn’t going to change the world.”

“Well, it certainly won’ hurt,” Balki countered. “And even if it won’ change the whole world, it will change someone’s world—whoever I meet.”

“Balki, I know you like to be positive and see the good in everyone,” Jennifer said. “But not everyone deserves your kindness; there are some truly awful people out there who wouldn’t want your kindness and certainly aren’t worthy of it.”

Balki froze for a minute, thinking about what had happened earlier that day with Moran at the _Chronicle_.

“I offer kindness to whoever I meet; if they don’ accept it, then I try to figure out why—maybe they are hurting and feel they don’ deserve it, and those people need it more than ever. But if there is someone who doesn’t want my kindness just because they don’ want it… Then I have no choice but to leave them alone.”

Larry blinked; based on the look on Balki’s face and his tone of voice, he wasn’t being hypothetical about that, and the girls’ expressions seemed to echo his thoughts, as well.

“Balki?” he asked. “Did something happen—?”

“Cousin, you didn’t answer your own question!” Balki exclaimed, hastily putting the grin back on his face.

“Huh? Oh. Well, you three pretty much covered the answer, I think,” Larry said. He didn’t want to mention the selfishness factor—his conscience was still prodding him as it was. “But, anyway, the fact is that THRUSH was able to work with that back in the 60s, and if they come back, they’ll try it again now. That’s how they did this spy-versus-spy thing—they tried to pit groups of people and whole countries against each other.”

“Well, Larry, if that’s what they’re going to do, then maybe you should write about that,” Jennifer said. “It’d be like a warning.”

“It’s definitely something that people would need to be aware of,” Mary Anne agreed.

Balki nodded in agreement.

“Just think, Cousin—you say that I, as one person, cannot do much, but you… You have so many people reading your words! They will read what you say, and it will bring the kitchen sink in, and then we’ll have lots of people treating each other with kindness and THRUSH will be unable to do a thing about it!”

Larry blinked again. Here they were, encouraging him to write more articles again? Maybe… Maybe he was doing the right thing after all?

“You know… you’re right,” he said. “I have a responsibility to tell that part of the story. I still need to cover the history of THRUSH first—I’ve got this article on the Partridges’ involvement for tomorrow, and then I think I’ll interview those two men I met today—they lived during the time when THRUSH was at the height of their influence. They seemed to think they didn’t have much worth saying, but I disagree—it’s all important.” A look of determination crossed Larry’s face. “I’ll draw more readers in with the spy intrigue bit, and then drop the truth on them once I’ve hooked them in. They’ll actually be listening.”

“Oh, Cousin, they are listening _now_; you didn’t read the rest of the fan mail you got today,” Balki said, taking the stack of letters he’d taken with him after deciding to leave early that day.

“Oh, Larry, _look_ at all of those letters!” Jennifer gushed.

“Well…” Larry said, at a loss for words as he saw the pile on the coffee table. He took the first one and opened it, unable to keep from grinning as he read it. “Well, would you look at that? ‘You should write a movie about this.’” He mused over this. “Larry Appleton—screenwriter… Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Don’t forget your responsibility,” Mary Anne gently reminded him. “There’ll be plenty of time for a screenplay after you get that done.”

“Right…” Larry said, placing the letter aside and going for the second one. “‘A riveting chapter of history is coming to life once again.’ This is _amazing_.”

There were so many letters that Larry motioned to the others to start opening them, as well, and the four of them tackled the pile.

“This one wants to read more as soon as possible,” Mary Anne said.

“So does this one!” Jennifer exclaimed.

“This one wants to meet you, Cousin!” Balki said.

“Really? For an autograph!?”

“No, she didn’t mention an autograph; she just says she would love to spend an evening with someone who would undoubtedly have a witty way with words in person as he does on the page—”

“I’ll take that,” Jennifer said, sharply, plucking the letter out of Balki’s hands. She then blushed as she noticed the amused look Larry was giving her. “…I’m sorry, but…” She trailed off, prompting Larry to draw his arm around her.

“…I’m happily engaged,” he finished for her.

She smiled now, and the two of them ended up in an unblinking stare as their foreheads gently came together.

“…Welp, we’ve lost them,” Mary Anne teased.

“Well, if they’re going to stay like that for a while, we should open the rest of the letters for them,” Balki said.

The letters were similar, aside from that one flirtatious one—all of them eager for more. Larry managed to divide his attention between Jennifer and the letters as Balki and Mary Anne continued to read them out.

“It really does sound like I have a large audience to reach. …The pressure’s on,” he added.

“Don’t think about the pressure,” Jennifer said. “Larry, you’re a brilliant writer—just speak from the heart. You can never go wrong that way.” She smiled. “And who should know better than me?”

Larry smiled back, and Jennifer’s smile grew.

“That’s one of the things I’ve enjoyed most about these last couple of weeks,” she added. “You’re smiling a whole lot more.”

“That well may be, Jen, but just thinking about you keeps a smile in my heart with every beat.”

She blinked, the color deepening in her cheeks.

“…You really _do_ have a witty way with words,” she said, kissing him.

Balki and Mary Anne politely averted their gazes.

“Mary Anne?”

“Yes, Balki?”

“I’m not as well-versed in the English language like Cousin Larry is… But on Mypos, we have a saying…” He said something in Myposian, and then switched back to English. “Loosely translated, it means ‘I see you as a sheep sees the pasture for the first time since the long winter.’”

“Oh, Balki, that’s lovely, too!” she exclaimed.

“You really think so?” Balki asked. “I always feel it loses a little something in the translation.”

“The language of love transcends all others, Balki,” Larry said, sagely.

“I’ll second that,” Jennifer agreed. She kissed him again. “Well, it’s getting pretty late; You probably want to polish that second article, don’t you?”

“Um… Yeah, I kinda do,” he admitted.

“Well, don’t let me keep a literary genius from creating his work,” she said, cheerfully.

“You don’t mind?” Larry asked.

“Well, if working hard now means you can wrap up your article series before the wedding…”

“Jen, I promise—after the wedding, I am all yours.”

She smiled.

“I can hardly wait,” she admitted. “But I will, anyway.”

They all got to their feet and said their goodnights to each other; after the girls had left, Larry leaned against the door with a contented sighed.

“Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better, Cousin,” Balki said, with a smile. “You were so quiet during dinner.”

“Yeah, I had some doubts earlier, but those are pretty much cleared up,” he said. He paused, recalling something. “But what about you?”

“Me? I had no doubts.”

“I mean, you seemed upset about something earlier. At first, I thought it was because I’d been so busy and hardly had any time for anything else, but then I heard you talking about reacting to people not wanting your kindness… Balki, you were being hypothetical, weren’t you?”

“I’m not cold, Cousin.”

“…Not hypothermic—hypothetical,” Larry clarified. “Balki, did something happen at work today while I was out at the library?”

Balki hesitated at first, but he waved a hand in dismissal.

“Cousin, really, it’s not even worth mentioning!” he said. “I can’t expect everyone to like me—I know that!”

“It usually doesn’t bother you like this,” Larry observed.

“Eh…” Balki waved a hand again. “I’ll forget it soon enough. Don’ you worry about me, Cousin; you focus on your article. I’m going to bed soon, anyway.”

Larry drew an arm around his cousin’s shoulders.

“Well, if you don’t forget it, you come and find me, okay?”

“I will,” Balki promised. Deep down, however, he knew he had to listen to his gut instinct and not let Moran meet Larry. He wasn’t sure how or why, but something told him that if they did meet, it would be very bad for his cousin. And that meant not telling Larry about Moran at all—for morbid curiosity would have Larry seeking Moran out. Balki hated withholding information from his cousin—especially when he was always on Larry’s case in regards to being honest. But this was for Larry’s protection. “Goodnight, Cousin. Good luck with the article.”

“Thanks, Buddy. Goodnight.”

Larry sat back on the couch and began to go through his drafts as Balki headed back to his room. There was work to be done.


	5. And the Wheels Keep Turning

It hadn’t, thankfully, required an all-nighter for Larry to get his article done; he was done by 1 AM, and had wandered off to bed soon after finishing up, but not before checking on Balki, who was, indeed, sound asleep in his room.

Larry didn’t sleep for long; he was eager to get to work on the next article. The cousins took breakfast to go and headed to the Chronicle, and Larry had sent the completed second article to the City Desk before Wainwright had even arrived for the day.

“Okay, the morning is young—which is great, because there is so much to do,” Larry said, as Balki began sorting the mail in one hand while holding his half-finished bagel with the other.

“And you have more fanmail to open when it’s all done,” Balki added, in between bites.

“Great! …That lady who wanted to meet me didn’t send another, did she…?”

“I don’ think so…”

“Good,” Larry said, with a sigh of relief. “I’ll worry about the fanmail later. The plan for today is that I’m going to try and see if I can get an interview with those two guys I met yesterday and get enough for article number three. …Of course, this is awful short notice, so they might not be able to make it to an interview today, in which case, I have Plan B right here…” Larry held up his Manila folder with the research from the library.

“…And Plan B is…?” Balki asked.

“Plan B is that I come back and do article number three on the founding of THRUSH and do a full exposé on its sordid history. I am naming names here, Balki—listen to this…” He flipped through the research in the folder. “Dr. Agnes Dabree—neurologist who went renegade and joined THRUSH, aiding them in developing terrifying methods of mind control. Anton Korbel—a holder of THRUSH’s financial assets.” Larry paused and shook his head. “They even had a lady who legally changed her name to Mother Fear. There’s also Pharos Mandor, another high-ranking THRUSH official… Oh, and of course, the mastermind, Silas Moran and his grandfather, who had co-founded THRUSH, Seb—”

Balki choked on his next bite of bagel, prompting Larry to place the folder aside and run over to him, clapping him on the back repeatedly.

“Balki, are you alright!?” Larry asked, concerned.

“Fine…” he insisted. “Just went down the wrong way; I’ll be alright.”

Larry breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

“I don’t blame you for getting unnerved; like Jen said—this is some heavy stuff.”

“…Oh, yes…” Balki said, with a wide-eyed nod. “You should probably do what Mary Anne said and let everyone else know how heavy it is as soon as possible.”

“…Right…” Larry said. He cast one more glance at his cousin to make sure he was okay and then darted to the phone o his desk, calling the number on the card that Mr. Stroller had given him. “Hello, Mr. Stroller? …Yes, that’s right—Lawrence Appleton. Yeah, I still would love to have an interview with you and Dr. Mallard. Where is a good place for us to meet? …The Chicago Shakespeare Repertory? Oh, you’re attending the _Hamlet_ production today and wanted to spend the day at Navy Pier; well, sure, I don’t mind meeting at the tavern at the pier! Yes, 11:00 AM would be perfect; I’ll meet you both there! Thanks!” He placed the phone back on the cradle. “_Yes_!”

“Good news?” Balki asked, trying to sound cheerful.

“Yes—I’ve got an interview with the both of them at 11.” Larry checked his watch. “And it’s 7:30 now—I should get over there right away, just in case there’s a major traffic mishap or something…”

Ordinarily, Balki would have pointed out that Larry was going a bit overboard, but this was the one time that Balki wanted him to be away from the _Chronicle_ building, and so, he just nodded along.

“Well, no sense in dawdling,” he offered.

“Yeah…” Larry said. “You sure you’ll be alright?”

“Sure, I’m sure!” Balki insisted, managing a grin. “You go and have your interview—make us all proud!”

“I’ll do that, Buddy—thanks!”

Larry darted out the exit towards the parking garage, grabbing the briefcase as he went. In his haste, he forgot to put the Manila folder full of research back in the briefcase, leaving it on his desk instead. Balki was about to run after him and give it to him when the elevator doors opened, revealing Wainwright and Moran. With a yelp, Balki stopped in his tracks, caught like a deer in the headlights.

“…Good morning, Bartokomous,” Wainwright said, puzzled to see him in such a state.

“G-Good morning, Mr. Wainwright,” Balki replied.

“I just took Mr. Moran out for breakfast; I thought we’d stop in and see Appleton so that they could be introduced to each other.”

“Oh…” Balki said. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wainwright, you’ve just missed him; he dropped his final revision of the second article with the City Desk, and he is now hot on the trail of story number three.”

“Did you not have the common sense to _tell_ the man that I wanted to meet him?” Moran scoffed.

“It’s not Bartokomous’s fault,” Wainwright sighed. “Appleton is always hasty and hyper-focused when he’s got his mind on something. I doubt anyone could’ve gotten a word in edgewise with him. We’ll just have to try and catch him another time.”

“I still insist that I can only agree to the advertising space after I have spoken with him,” Moran insisted.

“By all means, a fair decision,” Wainwright said. “Bartokomous, if, by some miracle, you get ahold of Appleton, let him know, please?”

Balki gave a nervous nod as Wainwright turned back to Moran.

“Can I call you a cab to take you back to your hotel?”

“I think I’ll see if I get a chance to see this reporter of yours should he end up back here today.”

“Very well; I’ll have a copy of the paper sent down to you so that you can see his finished work firsthand.”

Moran let out a noncommittal grunt, and Balki’s nervousness increased as Wainwright departed in the elevator, leaving him with Moran.

Balki placed the Manila folder and the next set of fan letters in the drawer of Larry’s desk and moved to return to his own desk, but Moran blocked his way.

“You could not inform your cousin of _one simple thing_?” he further queried.

“I… I did not have a chance…!” Balki stammered, lying through his teeth again. This was the most he had ever lied, and yet, he knew he had no choice. “You’ve seen for yourself—Cousin Larry is a very busy man…!”

His throat tightened and he made his way past Moran, trying very hard not to look as nervous as he felt. He grabbed another stack of letters from his desk and ran up the stairs once more.

Once he had left Moran behind on the following floor, Balki darted into the elevator and took it to the office of the head of security for the building, where an old friend would undoubtedly be willing to offer some advice.

He knocked on the door.

“Come in!” Harriette answered, and she looked pleasantly surprised as Balki entered her office. “Balki! How’ve you been?”

“Oh, just fine,” Balki said, managing a smile. “I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to catch up with you lately, Harriette; things have been so busy…”

“I’ll bet,” she replied. “I hope that Larry and Jennifer aren’t going through any pre-wedding nervousness?”

“They did, but they’re past that now—now they just can’t wait ‘til the wedding…” His smile actually grew, thinking about how lovey-dovey they’d been the previous evening.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” Harriette insisted. “Now, what can I help you with?”

Balki blinked in surprise, silently wondering how she knew.

“Baby, I’m a mother—I _know_ when someone needs my help but they’re too upset to ask,” Harriette explained, reading the look on his face. “You didn’t come here to catch up, did you?”

Balki shook his head.

“I don’ know what to do…” he sighed, and he launched into everything that had happened since the start of it all, ending with how nasty Moran had been and the bad feeling that he’d given him.

“And I thought I was just imagining things, but Cousin Larry was talking about his research on THRUSH, and how there was someone named _Silas_ Moran who was in charge of THRUSH for a while, and his grandpapa was a co-founder… I thought it was a coincidence, but then I remembered that _this_ Mr. Moran said he was here to advertise for his Boudetase Group—and Boudetase is Greek for ‘little bird,’ and a thrush is a little bird, too!” He paused to catch his breath. “Am I just jumping to contusions?”

“Well, I’ll say one thing,” Harriette said. “Gut checks are an important thing; sometimes, we subconsciously pick up on danger without realizing it. And you’re not the kind to get these gut feelings often—that means it really could be your sixth sense acting up. However…” She gave an apologetic sigh. “There’s very little I can do from the Security Department based on a gut feeling, aside from putting more surveillance on him. Based on what you told me, we don’t have any proof that this Mr. Moran has done anything illegal—he’s just a jerk, and, unfortunately, I can’t take action on something like that—otherwise, we’d have kicked Gorpley out of here long ago.”

“Then what can _I_ do?” Balki asked.

“Also very little,” Harriette admitted. “Also based on what you’ve told me, this Moran fella seems like the kind of guy who’d try to get you in trouble just for looking at him funny. I know it’s not the answer you want to hear, but I think you’d better keep your head down and avoid him as much as possible.”

“And Cousin Larry?”

“If you really think that him meeting Moran is a bad idea, then yes, make sure that you keep them apart. But, Balki…” She gave him a knowing look. “You need to tell him, sooner or later. You’re always on him about telling the truth; how do you think this is going to look if you don’t?”

“…If I don’ tell him, I won’ have a leg to dance on,” Balki realized.

“That’s right,” Harriette said. “And if this Moran is who you think he is, it’s all the more important that Larry is aware that he’s got his number—things could get dangerous fast, especially if Larry is caught unawares.”

Balki nodded, going pale.

“And should we tell Mr. Wainwright…?”

“That’s going to be tricky; Moran has already made himself charming as far as Mr. Wainwright is concerned,” Harriette said. “And there’s the promise of that advertising money. I don’t think Mr. Wainwright would be thrilled to hear accusations against Moran without any solid proof.”

“So… just keep an eye out…?”

“Both of them, if necessary,” Harriette said. “And your ears, too. I know I’ll do the same.”

Balki nodded again.

“Thank you, Harriette,” he said, sincerely.

“Anytime, Balki.”

*******************************

Moran was certainly not amused at having missed Larry Appleton again—and his frustrations increased as he received a copy of the morning edition and read the article on the Partridges’ history with THRUSH, and the efforts of Solo and Kuryakin to stop them. But what caught Moran’s eye the most was the speculation on whether the Partridge line was still affiliated with THRUSH, and if the awakening beast involved them in any way.

_How did he find out about the revival!?_ Moran fumed. _How did he find out about Partridge!? And what else does he know!?_

The Mypiot mailboy hadn’t returned; Moran took some satisfaction in knowing that was probably due to how much he’d intimidated him.

_Clearly, no one has taught the boy his place_, Moran mused. _It’s about time someone did_…  
Confident that the mailboy wouldn’t be returning anytime soon, Moran now scoured Larry’s desk, trying to see what else he knew.

The Manila folder was there in the drawer, and, paging through it, Moran scowled to see that Larry had, clearly, done his research—so much information, ready to be divulged to the public—and the history of Moran’s own family line would be aired out. It was suddenly clear why the Mypiot mailboy hadn’t told his cousin about Moran wanting to meet him and why he had seemed so terrified when Moran had gotten off of the elevator—the mailboy had put the pieces together already, and hadn’t wanted to tell his cousin for whatever reasons known only to him.

_At any rate, the fool has bought me more time_, Moran realized. _Perhaps he can still be of some use to me_.

He took Larry’s Manila folder with him as he left. He knew it was only a temporary stalling tactic—there was nothing to stop Larry from going out and getting the research all over again, but it would provide Moran some time to determine the best way to make his presence known to the reporter.

_Lawrence Appleton, you will rue the day you dared to cross THRUSH_, Moran silently vowed.


	6. Past and Present

Blissfully unaware of what was happening back at the _Chronicle_, Larry was already at the tavern, waiting for Mr. Stroller and Dr. Mallard. They showed up at the appointed time, somehow sensing that Larry had been there for a while.

Larry had his questions ready—about what they knew about THRUSH and what it was like living with them as a threat.

“You mentioned that the worst part about it was the uncertainty of war breaking out,” Larry recalled.

“Oh, it wasn’t just the thought of war breaking out,” Mr. Stroller insisted. “It was all of the things THRUSH were capable of doing—I’m not sure how else I can describe them other than insidious, and dangerous.”

“It wasn’t just the large-scale things they did,” Dr. Mallard explained. “Indeed, those attempts were truly terrible, but they targeted individuals, too—people vanished without a trace on a regular basis; the lucky ones escaped or were rescued, but some of them were never seen again. They didn’t make the international headlines because, in the grand scheme of things, they were individuals, most of them not having any fame or recognition…”

“…But that didn’t mean that they weren’t important to someone,” Mr. Stroller finished. “You’re a newsman—I’m sure you see these kinds of tragedies and horrors come in to your paper on a regular basis—the small stories that often go unnoticed.”

“Yeah, I do,” Larry admitted. “I didn’t really give them much thought, like you said, unless it was something I had to follow up on.”

“Well, I guarantee you, for every one of those stories, there are multiple people giving them a lot of thought—every moment of their waking hours,” Mr. Stroller added. “Our lives are like leaves falling from a tree above a pond. Each leaf, no matter how many other leaves there are, makes ripples when it touches the water…”

“What my companion is so poetically trying to say,” Dr. Mallard intoned, with a roll of his eyes. “Is that there is a significance to each and every life—that includes myself, Albert, and even you. If you disappeared, for instance, your absence would be felt very deeply by those closest to you—as theirs would be felt by you.”

Larry didn’t doubt it—that night three years ago when Balki, Jennifer, and Mary Anne had stuck by his side because of Claire Hayden’s prophecy that had predicted Larry’s death that very night had spoken volumes. They’d been scared out of their wits, but they had refused to leave him—something he could never forget. He sighed inwardly, but nodded.

“Now,” the doctor continued. “Take that knowledge, and imagine how it must have felt, always having that fear in the back of your mind that THRUSH could cause a loved one to disappear, either targeted for a purpose, or merely being in the wrong place at the wrong time as collateral damage—I remember THRUSH once was behind the disappearance of a jetliner, and what unfolded from that…”

Larry lost track of what the doctor was saying, a chill running down his spine, trying not to think of that happening to a flight that Jennifer or Mary Anne were assigned to. He pulled himself out of the terrifying thought, trying to focus on what else the doctor was saying—

“And so, you see why THRUSH must never be allowed to succeed with their revival, if for no other reason than to spare those alive today the stresses of fearing for the safety of their loved ones on a daily basis.”

“The two of us are fortunate to have survived those times,” Mr. Stroller added, sounding less jovial than usual. “The last thing we want is for us—or any innocent—to have to live a life of fear all over again.”

They shared more stories of worries and woes from that era, and Larry intently listened to them, finding himself grateful that he and his closest friends lived in a far safer world than the one from decades past.

“I’ve gotten a really good idea of the kind of things people had to worry about,” he admitted. “But there was hope, wasn’t there? It wasn’t all bleak?”

“Oh, of course, there was hope,” Mr. Stroller assured him. “And that hope was in seeing people band together for all of the right causes. Selfishness is the cause of the world’s troubles, but selflessness—that is the light that can fight back. People united in their togetherness, giving hope to each other—their loved ones, and even to strangers.”

“But we’re ordinary people,” Larry said, recalling the conversation with Balki and the girls the previous evening. “Maybe I’m in a position to do a bit more, since I can reach a wider audience, but I’m not like Solo or Kuryakin, who were actually able to fight back against THRUSH…”

“You make them out to be like superheroes,” Dr. Mallard observed, with a tone of voice that suggested that he didn’t think the same.

“Well, it sure seemed that way to me when I was hearing those stories about them growing up. Do you have some opinions on them?” Larry asked.

“Oh, plenty,” the doctor replied. “They are far from superheroes; they are quite flawed, as all human beings are. For all of his heroics, Solo, in particular, was… Oh, what is the word the kids use these days? _Extra_. And Kuryakin was nothing special—an ordinary man.”

“An ordinary man with the driest sense of humor,” Mr. Stroller intoned. “But, yes—they were only doing their jobs, which just happened to let them take direct action against THRUSH. As you said yourself, you, too, are in a position to do more than most. That is a great opportunity—and a responsibility that shouldn’t be taken lightly.”

“Right…” Larry said. The others had said the same thing last evening, after all… “Well, you’ve given me quite a lot to work with here; I’ll be sure to put it all together into something that proves me worthy of my position in the press.”

“You do that,” Dr. Mallard encouraged. “Take care, Lawrence.”

He sipped at his drink as Mr. Stroller also wished Larry well, and watched the young reporter as he left the bar, clearly deep in thought once again. He drew his attention back to his companion, however, as he felt a gentle nudge from an elbow.

“Extra? _Really_?”

Dr. Mallard—alias Illya Kuryakin—looked back at Mr. Stroller—alias Napoleon Solo—with a smirk.

“I’ve been telling you that for years,” he mused. “And you did say that I had the driest sense of humor, didn’t you?”

Napoleon let out a quiet harrumph, but pushed the thought aside.

“I’m still worried about young Lawrence,” he said. “Even if we’ve given him more to think about other than sensationalizing the espionage angle of things, the fact remains that THRUSH isn’t going to take this lying down. That scathing exposé about the Partridges and connecting them to a current revival is proof to them that he knows too much. They’ll do their best to intimidate him into stopping any further articles.”

“And if that doesn’t work…” Illya trailed off. “He won’t be ready for what comes after that.”

“If Blanche’s plan to dissuade him from revealing anything more he knows about the revival works, he’ll buy himself some time,” Napoleon said.

“True, but I feel Blanche’s plan is crossing some lines. We know Lawrence has a foreign-born cousin who he is close to; this is a blatant manipulation tactic Blanche is pulling!” Illya stated.

“…Says the one who mentioned about THRUSH’s disappearing plane caper when you knew full well that Lawrence’s fiancée is a flight attendant…” Napoleon pointed out.

“Bringing up a case from decades past isn’t the same thing as showing him something close to home that is happening in the here and now,” Illya countered.

“You’re right; it isn’t,” Napoleon admitted. “And if it weren’t for the fact that Blanche is our superior, I’d have voiced more resistance to the idea than I already did. But, at the same time, I can see her side of it, too; a wake-up call _this_ nasty may be something he needs, even if there was a better way of going about it—you can’t deny that this will get his attention, loud and clear.”

“No, I can’t,” Illya agreed. “More than anything, I just hope young Lawrence keeps his wits about him.”

“You and me both, _Tovarisch_,” Napoleon agreed, with a sigh.

**************************

Larry was once again deep in thought as he left the interview. He had certainly gotten more than he had bargained for, talking to these two gentlemen again. It was uncanny, how they seemed to say the most thought-provoking things. He wasn’t doubting himself this time, but he certainly was thinking about the power he held against THRUSH at the moment.

“Mr. Appleton?”

Larry blinked, seeing a woman, professionally dressed in a suitjacket and matching skirt, apparently waiting for him. Beside her was another woman, more casually dressed in a fashionable one-piece ensemble.

“…Yes…?” he replied, cautiously.

The woman in the suitjacket produced a set of credentials.

“Blanche Waverly—Number One, Section One of U.N.C.L.E. Northwest.” A smile crossed her face. “Like my grandfather before me—I’m sure you’ve read of him in your research.”

Once Larry had been satisfied by her credentials, he nodded.

“Yes, I have,” he said, and the realization sunk in. “…But you’re not here to talk about your grandfather with me, are you?”

“Very astute, Mr. Appleton,” she said, with a nod. “I’ve had THRUSH under surveillance here in Chicago for quite some time, but you seem to have uncovered more than my agents have.”

“And you want to know everything that I know?” Larry asked. “Well, to tell you the truth, my article series is mainly about speculation; all I know is that THRUSH is planning to revive, and that they want to prevent Solo and Kuryakin from returning to stop them. There were two men; I don’t know the identity of one of them, but the other was from the Partridges. Everything else I’ve found out is research from THRUSH’s past.”

“Yes, I had a feeling that what you knew might be limited,” Blanche agreed. “Which is why I want to ask something of you.”

Larry blinked.

“Me…?”

“Yes.” She indicated the other woman with her. “Can you come with us to my car? This matter is best discussed in private.”

Larry hesitated.

“…Can I see those credentials again first?”

She obliged him, and after Larry had scrutinized and approved of them again, he accompanied the two women back to a dark car with tinted windows. He clambered inside, slightly nervous.

“I’ve already told you; there isn’t really much I know aside from that basic bit of information…” he began.

“I am offering you the opportunity to learn more,” Blanche explained. “You do wish to learn more about THRUSH, don’t you?”

“…Yes…?” Larry returned, his voice unsure.

Blanche now indicated the woman beside her.

“This is a very dear friend of mine, Della Marton,” she said. “You’ve read about one Victor Marton in your research, I assume?”

“Yeah, I have; Victor Marton was originally a partner of your grandfather during the Second World War,” Larry recalled. “When U.N.C.L.E. was formed, he initially was your grandfather’s partner there, too, but he defected to THRUSH.”

“Grand-pére was lulled in to THRUSH by the promise of great wealth,” Della admitted. “But he still held a deep personal loyalty to Alexander Waverly; quite often, he would go against his fellow THRUSH members to keep U.N.C.L.E. agents safe—and Mr. Waverly would bend the rules for his sake, as well.”

Larry blinked.

“I see—since you’re Victor Marton’s granddaughter, you can give me more information on THRUSH. Did you know some secrets that your grandfather had told you?”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Della sighed. “Once you join THRUSH, there’s no easy way out—even after Grand-pére realized that he was not getting what he wanted out of it and wanted to leave, he couldn’t. To do so would have meant death to both himself—and to me.” She sighed again. “He adopted me as his granddaughter after other THRUSH members had done away with my birth family—I was too young to remember anything, but he wished to save me from that fate. But in doing so, I became tied to THRUSH as well.”

“Della serves as a double agent,” Blanche explained. “Much like how her grandfather aided mine, she had aided me in keeping track of what THRUSH was up to in exchange for giving THRUSH inconsequential information from our side in order to avert their suspicions from her. It worked out wonderfully—right until THRUSH activity quieted down. However, she had been contacted by Partridge not too long ago about this revival, and things have started up again as of late.”

“I couldn’t refuse,” Della said, darkly. “I knew too much as it was—THRUSH’s activity had been increasing as of late, what with all the rallies and meetings they’d been holding. That’s where you come in, Mr. Appleton.”

“Huh…?” Larry asked, not sure he wanted to know where this was going—though he had a good idea.

“There’s going to be a THRUSH-sponsored rally here in Chicago at about 5 this evening,” Della said. “My ability to meet and contact Blanche is very limited now that activity is increasing; THRUSH thinks I’m using her to help them, but if I meet with her too often, it’ll give away my true loyalties.”

“And my agents would run the risk of being recognized by THRUSH agents,” Blanche added. “But you, Mr. Appleton, are relatively anonymous—a face in the crowd who THRUSH would not recognize.”

“Whoa, back up just a second,” Larry said, flabbergasted. “You’re sending me to this THRUSH rally?”

“It would be purely voluntary,” Blanche assured him. “We’d have you outfitted in clothes that would make you harder to recognize. You would get another angle for your articles—being deep in enemy territory, as it were. And I would get some updates on what exactly they’re doing. You wouldn’t be alone; Della will accompany you every step of the way. And again, the choice is yours.”

The idea of a glimpse into enemy territory was a very tempting one. Larry knew of the dangers it presented—but he also knew that THRUSH wouldn’t know what he looked like, and he would be wearing different clothes, as well. But the idea of getting a report from the front lines of THRUSH’s nefarious activities—perhaps even overhearing some key parts of their master plan—would certainly hook the readers in. He could write up an article on that tonight after the rally ended for article 3, and then have article 4 on Mr. Stroller and Dr. Mallard’s stories of the past.

“…You know what? I’ll do it.”

“You will?” Blanche asked.

“…Yes, I will,” Larry said. “I owe it to my readers to get them the very best stories I can give them—and this is a golden opportunity to see THRUSH in action and report on whatever it is they’re planning next.”

“…Do be discreet,” Blanche said, after a moment. “And do remember, I shall want a report, as well—sooner rather than later?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Larry said, with a wave of his hand. He could feel the adrenaline starting to kick in.

“And one last thing,” Blanche advised. “Don’t lose sight of what’s truly important, Mr. Appleton.”

“Yes, of course I won’t,” Larry promised. “The most important thing are these articles, and presenting this information to the public in a responsible way.”

Blanche looked as though she wanted to say something in response to that, but decided against it.

“Very well, Mr. Appleton; I shall leave you in Della’s capable hands,” she said, abandoning her first train of thought altogether. “Do be sure to listen to her; your life may depend on it.”

“Right,” Larry said, with a nod.

Della exited the car first, and then, so as not to be conspicuous, Larry followed a few minutes later. They watched as Blanche’s car drove off, and Larry sighed to himself, hoping this would work out well.

“We’ve got a little while to kill,” Della said, drawing him back to the present. “I suggest you get some lunch and what have you; you can meet me back here at 3:00, and I’ll have a new wardrobe ready for you.”

“Right, I’ll see you then,” Larry agreed.

He could barely focus on lunch, though he did go off in search of food; his mind was focused on what would unfold that evening—and the hopes that it would be a fruitful venture into the unknown.


	7. Chapter 7

The next few hours went by slowly for Larry; even eating seemed to be a chore with all the excitement and anticipation he was dealing with. He’d left a message for Balki to let him know that he’d be out the rest of the day, and Larry was back at 2:00, waiting impatiently for another hour until Della returned with a longcoat and a wide-brimmed hat that would conceal as much of him as possible, in the off chance that someone could otherwise recognize Larry. They were on their way after that.

Larry did his best to try to quell the butterflies in his stomach as they arrived at the meeting place, parking a few blocks away and walking the rest of the way. He followed Della to a back alleyway, crowded with people, listening to a group of people talking loudly and aggressively from a raised platform that they’d built out of several crates—so that they could easily dismantle it and leave if authorities showed up, Larry presumed.

“Those rabble-rousers on the platform are low-ranking THRUSH agents,” Della said, in an undertone. “There are a few more in the crowd—the ones holding signs.”

Larry took a brief glance around and looked back at the ones on the platform—before freezing in place as he fully registered what he had seen. He glanced back at the signs the nearest THRUSH agents in the crowd were holding—one of them was holding a sign that read, “America for Americans,” and the one closest to him and Della held a sign that read “Send Them Back” in blood-red letters.

Larry looked away, exhaling.

“Something wrong?” Della asked, though with an air that clearly told that she knew the answer.

“…I thought this was going to be a tactics meeting, or something like that,” Larry said, going pale as the agents on the platform spewed out more anti-immigration rhetoric to the crowd. “That they were going to boast about what they were planning and try to draw in recruits that way…”

“But this _is_ a tactics meeting,” Della said, calmly. She indicated the crowd of bystanders, who were getting riled up by the THRUSH agents and yelling back things—a lot of them spewing back words of agreement. “THRUSH has always been about milking the ‘Us Versus Them’ aspect for all it was worth—that was how they got so far. That is their biggest tactic. You know the acronym. Technological Hierarchy for the—”

“…Removal of Undesirables and the Subjugation of Humanity,” Larry recalled, sweat pouring down his face now. “Oh, God…”

“THRUSH has always considered Undesirables to be those they see useless—not just their enemies, but those they feel are standing in their way of conquest and wealth,” Della said. “The downtrodden, the underprivileged… the wide-eyed souls who dare to dream of something better and seek a new life across distant shores… they have no place in THRUSH’s world. They are just obstacles in the way. And THRUSH knows that there are many who harbor those same sentiments, so they stir up the feelings as best they can an embolden them to do their dirty work for them.”

Larry’s stomach lurched, and the sickening feeling in his gut only increased as the vile vitriol continued to fester in the words around them.

“You knew…” he managed to say.

“Blanche researched you the moment you appeared on the radar with that first article,” Della agreed. “As you drew more and more attention, she quickly realized that you were in a position to do a lot of good—but only if you could see just how dire the situation was. And she also knew that this was the way to show you just how dire things were—something that would strike a bit close to home. And judging by the look on your face, it has hit quite hard. You will forgive our deception, Mr. Appleton—Blanche doesn’t need any updates; this is just another Tuesday for THRUSH. And we needed you to see that.”

“I’ve… seen enough…”

“I’m sorry this evening wasn’t the thrilling tale of espionage you were hoping for,” Della said, sincerely. “But surely you aren’t naïve enough to believe that this sort of thing wasn’t happening?”

“Of course not…”

Larry had seen it all too many times already—the way people like Twinkacetti and Gorpley treated Balki. And there’d been that whole mess with Mr. Glover the year before; that had been the worst of it, at least until today—Glover hadn’t threatened Balki with violence, but Larry knew that if his cousin were to stumble into this alley right now, with the level of sheer hatred and anger the crowd had right now, he wouldn’t make it out without serious injury—or worse.

“THRUSH knows what buttons to press—how to manipulate others into doing what they want. It’s all they can do now, without being fully revived into an organization that can attempt global subjugation as they used to,” Della continued. “This is what Blanche wanted you to see—what she wanted you to warn your readers about.”

Larry gave a hollow nod.

“I… I need to leave…”

“Then go,” Della replied, gently. “Do you need a ride?”

“No; I’ll take a cab…”

Larry gave a hasty goodbye and retreated, walking on autopilot as he struggled to put as much distance as he could between himself and the hate-filled crowd, only stopping to return the hat and longcoat to Della’s car.

He then pulled himself together long enough to call the Chronicle—only to find out from a disgruntled Gorpley that Balki had pleaded for the afternoon off for some unknown reason, and, not being in a mood to argue, Gorpley had granted it.

It wasn’t like Balki to shirk work and run off—especially without leaving some sort of message to let Larry know where he was going. Would he be home by now? Larry _had_ been out all day…

A new worry added itself to Larry’s growing pile of woes. Suddenly, nothing else mattered—the stories, the fame, nothing—except going home and making sure his cousin was alright.

*********************************

Balki was not having a good day. He had pulled himself together after his meeting with Harriette and had headed back down to the mailroom. His initial relief at seeing Moran gone was quickly eclipsed by sheer horror as he saw the drawer of Larry’s desk wide open—and his Manila folder of research gone.

The former sheepherder berated himself for his short-sightedness; he should have expected Moran to poke around—and make off with the research pinpointing THRUSH being led by his forebears. And now, hours and hours of his cousin’s hard work was gone in the blink of an eye. It wouldn’t be enough to blame Moran—Larry would ask why Balki had left the folder for him to take. And Balki wouldn’t have an answer, other than to blame it on his nervousness at the time—an answer that his cousin wouldn’t easily accept, for this was the kind of mishap, one directly affecting Larry’s work performance, that would lead to another legendary Appleton meltdown.

The message coming in from Larry that he’d be out all day was a reprieve for the eventual meltdown; Balki struggled to use the time to reduce the severity of the impending meltdown—he spent the morning downtime in the _Chronicle_ archives, recopying as much of the information on THRUSH using Larry’s signout log as a guide, and, after begging Gorpley for the afternoon off, Balki proceeded to do the same at the library, as well, once again using Larry’s checkout log to guide him. It had taken hours and hours, but Balki still wasn’t sure that he had recovered _all_ of the stolen information—and even if he had, it wouldn’t bring back his cousin’s meticulous notes and arrangement that he’d so carefully put together.

Still, it was the best Balki could do, and he could only hope that Larry would agree to that once he got over the initial meltdown of losing the first round of research. It was early in the evening by the time Balki got home with the copies of the research; after leaving them on the table, he proceeded to do his de-stressing activity of choice—cooking.

He had just taken a batch of baklava out of the oven and was getting grape leaves and various fillings together to make a plate of dolmas for an appetizer when he heard the key turn in the lock and saw Larry come in.

“Cousin…!” Balki’s nervousness quickly faded as he saw the look on Larry’s face. “…You look terrible!”

“…It’s getting better,” Larry said, after taking a moment. He looked incredibly relieved about something, which only made Balki more reluctant to bring up what had happened with Moran. Larry sniffed the air now. “What do you have over there?”

“Just a batch of baklava,” Balki said, dismissively. “But, Cousin, there’s something I need to tell you…”

“I’ll have some,” Larry said.

“…You will?” Balki asked, temporarily distracted in his surprise. “The last time I made baklava, you didn’t want to try it.”

“Well, I want to try it now,” Larry said. “I shouldn’t have brushed it off like that last time; you wanted to share a bit of your culture with me, and I should’ve been more appreciative of that.”

Something was definitely up; even as Balki moved to get the toothpicks for his cousin to spear a piece of baklava onto, he could see Larry temporarily staring off into space with a thousand-yard stare, clearly thinking about something else. Balki gently cleared his throat as he held up the tray of baklava and the toothpicks for Larry. Larry snapped back to awareness and took a piece of baklava with a toothpick; his face now took on an expression of pleasant surprise as he tasted it.

“This is incredible!”

“You really think so?” Balki asked.

“I sure do! What’s in it?”

“Well, it’s just—”

“On second thoughts, don’t tell me…”

“Well, I can promise you it’s nothing you wouldn’t like,” Balki assured him. “Our appetizers and main courses have a lot of local flavor, but our desserts more like traditional Greek and aren’t anything to worry about. Well, unless you don’ make bibbibabkas with the proper care, but, of course, you know all about that, don’ you…?”

Larry went slightly red, but the incident was over three years ago—long enough that he could look back on it and chuckle.

Balki was relieved to see him smile; perhaps now was the time to bring up what had happened.

“But, um… We gotta talk about something…”

“Yeah, what happened today?” Larry asked. “I’d called the _Chronicle_ about an hour ago; Gorpley said you’d been out all afternoon.”

“Yes, there’s a reason for that…” Balki trailed off, trying to figure out the best way to break the news, before deciding that there was no other way around it. “Cousin, I’m so sorry for not being able to stop it, but… you had left your Manila folder of research when you ran out this morning, and while I was preoccupied with something else, it was stolen.”

Larry, who had just speared another piece of baklava with the toothpick, froze and let it fall unceremoniously to the countertop.

“_What_!?”

“I spent the morning in the Archives trying to get your research back, and then I spent the afternoon in the library. I… I think I got most of it back?” Balki indicated the research on the table, still bracing for more ranting.

To his surprise, Larry’s meltdown seemed to deflate at he glanced at the table.

“You spent the whole day doing that for me?” he asked.

“Well, of course—it was my fault for not stopping it.”

“No… No, it wasn’t,” Larry said, running a hand through his curls. “I was the one who left it behind in the first place.” He went over the information on the table and silently had to admit that Balki had done a good job of recompiling the research—Larry’s meticulous notes had been the only thing he couldn’t have hoped to replicate. “But you’ve done a pretty good job of trying to get it back.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. Thanks, Buddy.” He placed a hand on his cousin’s shoulder, and then suddenly drew him into a hug.

Balki was a bit surprised, noting that Larry hadn’t either noticed or cared that Balki was still wearing his Chicago Bulls apron that was covered in flour and powdered sugar. Nevertheless, he returned the hug.

“Cousin, are you alright?”

“I’m fine—really, I’m fine,” Larry bluffed. “Look, um… How far along in preparing dinner have you got?”

“Not very far; I made the dessert first, but that’s it.”

“Of course you did,” Larry mused. “Tell you what—how about we get the girls and the four of us go out for dinner? We haven’t done this since this whole thing started and I saw Partridge in that restaurant. And we’ll come back and have your baklava for dessert.”

“Well, I can get in front of that idea,” Balki said. “But can we not go back to Chez Josefine’s? In case those THRUSH people are back…”

“Yeah, good idea,” Larry said, ruefully. “They’re the ones who probably took my research.”

“…Yeah, I think that’s a safe bet,” Balki said, after a moment. “Which reminds me; we got something else we’ve gotta talk about…”

“It means I’m getting too close for comfort,” Larry continued. “Which is good, in a way—I’m in the right direction. But I’ve got to be careful.”

“Yes. Yes, you do,” Balki said. “In fact…”

“So we’ll stick together and be extra vigilant,” Larry said. “Okay, I need to have a word with Jennifer really quickly; I’ll invite the girls and send Mary Anne down here, and you two can decide where we go.”

“But, Cousin—”

Larry had already grabbed the research and had bolted out the door, leaving Balki sighing as he wondered how to warn his cousin about Moran—and wondered why his cousin seemed more out of it than usual.

Something had happened when he was out today—but whether or not Larry would come clean as to what that was would be another matter altogether.

Meanwhile, Larry had run all the way upstairs to Jennifer and Mary Anne’s apartment; the girls readily agreed to an evening out, and Mary Anne was more than eager to decide with Balki on where to go.

Jennifer quickly realized that there was more Larry wanted to say, especially since he seemed to have brought his work with him, and soon, Larry had explained what Balki had gone through just to cushion the blow of the stolen research.

“I mean, look at this, Jen,” he said. “He spent hours and hours, risking Gorpley’s wrath just to make things as less painful as he could for me.” He sank down on the sofa, sighing. “Jen, I don’t think I appreciate him as much as I should.”

“Of course you do,” Jennifer said, sitting down beside him. “Larry, you’re his best friend, and he knows that. Why else would he go through all this trouble for you?”

“There’s more to it than that,” Larry said. “English isn’t even his first language; this must have been even harder than it would’ve been for you and me—going through all those confusing arrangements in the Archives and the library.”

“…I guess I never thought of that,” Jennifer admitted.

“I don’t think I realized how much harder things are for Balki until today.”

“What happened today to bring this on all of a sudden?”

Larry swallowed the growing lump in his throat.

“All these weeks, I’d been doing these articles on THRUSH and getting all the praise and attention for it. I was in my own personal Heaven.” He exhaled. “And today, I saw Hell.”

It was difficult to relay what he had seen and heard at the THRUSH rally, but he forced himself to do it; Jennifer had her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide in shock.

“Oh, Larry…” she said, and she took a moment. “Have you… Have you told Balki?”

“How can I?” Larry asked, despondently. “How can I tell him that the country he struggled for so long to get to and establish a home in has this kind of insidiousness that doesn’t even want him in it?” He sighed. “You remember all that stuff with Glover trying to give him that token job?”

Jennifer nodded.

“You weren’t there when Glover finally showed his true colors in front of him and said that he was taking a job away from ‘a real American.’” He used air quotes and a disgusted tone. “Balki was really hurt, even if he refused to admit it. If I told him about this, I’m worried about how he’d take it. But, at the same time, you’re right—I should warn him, but…”

“…There’s no easy answer,” Jennifer finished. “Well… I’m sure you’ll figure out the right thing to say. You always do in the end.”

Larry wasn’t so sure, but he certainly hoped she was right. There would be a lot to think about over dinner tonight.


End file.
